


Hearth

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [302]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas fic, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 04:18:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12833136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: hearth: noun; härth: home, firesideMiddle English herth, from Old English heorth; akin to Old High German herd hearth, and probably to Sanskrit kūḍayāti he scorches





	Hearth

Sherlock stared into dying embers and shivered. 

"Huhhh? Wha -"

"It's nothing, John, shhhh." He kissed John's forehead and ran his fingers lightly through John's hair, not quite as thick as it once was, and he'd had it cut short - Sherlock honestly preferred it shorter, but never made mention of that fact. He smiled to himself as John sighed and snuggled closer against him. He wondered what it was about this particular hearth, that made this otherwise quite ordinary flat his home, no - their home, and not just a place to hang their proverbial hats. Perhaps because it was where he finally understood - one night, how many years ago, ten, no. Twelve, already? Another Christmas Day, a cold day very much like this one, he had put a match to the kindling, made sure it caught, then stood up to feel John's hand trembling against his back, his other hand was outstretched in front of him, holding a box.

"What is this?" He recalled it was probably the most idiotic question he'd ever posed aloud.

"A box." John had snorted.

"Yes. I know it's a box, John."

"And a question."

"How can a box be a -" nearly his second most moronic inquiry. But he stopped short just in time. "John?"

"Uhmhmm?" John had turned Sherlock around by then and moved them so they wouldn't get scorched by the growing flames. 

Sherlock carefully opened the box as if it were entirely possible that it could bite him.

"It won't - just open it, please?" John's hands were resting on Sherlock's hips, his eyes were lit up from the firelight as Sherlock gazed down at him. He nodded and finally opened it, drawing in a sharp breath as he watched John's eyes darken and smile at him. 

"Beautiful - just -"

"You aren't - you didn't look at it - Sherlock?"

"Yes, John."

"Yes."

Sherlock nodded as John took the ring out of the box and slid it onto his finger. "No one's ever thought me more remarkable than -" John's thought was never completed as Sherlock stole the words from him with a single, mesmerizing kiss.

 

Sherlock looked down at the ring that had rarely left his hand in the last twelve years since that night. It was as clean and shiny as it had been, when John slipped it on. He had it cleaned every few months, making sure there was never any doubt of its importance. He blinked then kissed John once more. "Come on, John, fire's just about done, and you can't sleep like this too long, you know what it does to your shoulder, and your knee - and -"

"You -" John opened his eyes and shook his head. "You didn't look at that ring for another couple of days, until I asked you the colour and you couldn't tell me -"

"You are still more precious to me than anything, or anyone else. I hope you know that."

John touched his face lightly and nodded. "I know, love, always have. What is it?"

"I think you're going to have to help me up, legs have fallen asleep."

John snorted, but slowly got up, helped Sherlock get to his feet, then pulled him into his arms. "Happy Christmas, love."

"Happy Christmas, John."


End file.
